


Definition of Ground Rules

by Witchy1ness



Series: How To (Not) Raise a Ravager [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Ravager Politics, child exposed to violence, don't mess with Yondu, little bit of language, tiny bit of Yondad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 13:09:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12321708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchy1ness/pseuds/Witchy1ness
Summary: The Ravagers scare Peter from day one, but they all listen to Yondu, so Peter knows who to really be afraid of. But with familiarity comes contempt, and it's when he's ten that Peter gets a brutal reminder.





	Definition of Ground Rules

**Author's Note:**

> I am back! 
> 
> All the usual excuses: work was busy/stressful, planning a vacation was stressful, planning a mini geek-themed convention was stressful....but work has straightened out, the vacation was fantastic, and the convention went off beautifully!
> 
> It's glaringly obvious that I am failing miserably at this 'one new story a month' resolution BUT I am for damned sure going to post 12 new stories this year.
> 
> All recognizable characters and settings are the property of Marvel Comics, Marvel Studios, and/or Disney. I'm just borrowing them :)
> 
> Written in 2017.
> 
> Reviews and constructive criticism welcome, flames will be ignored.

_“If your kid needs a role model and you ain't it, you're both fucked.”_  
**― George Carlin**

 

Peter’s first few years aboard the _Eclector_ aren’t easy. The entire crew seems to hate him – with the exception of the Captain, who seems to tolerate him as a necessary presence but not one he feels the need to spend any great amount of time on; and the first mate, who spends most of the first few years showing Peter the ropes. 

But that comes later, as right now he’s lost his mother, his family, hell his entire _planet_ in the space of fifteen minutes, and shock and grief have so overwhelmed him that he doesn’t speak at all for the first month. He spends most of his time either hiding in the copious nooks and crannies of the ship where the grown members of the crew can’t get at him, or with the Captain, shadowing him as the blue alien explains facets of his new life. 

Or rather, has his second-in-command explain things to him. 

And though Peter doesn’t for a second believe the line they feed him about abducting him because these….space pirates think he’ll be good at thieving, he can’t find any proof that there’s any _other_ reason. 

By the time he adjusts enough to life onboard the ship that he starts talking again, Peter’s learned that asking questions about it - or his father - is the quickest way to get a cuff to the head, or – if Yondu’s in a particularly bad mood – an arrow aimed right between his eyes. 

The first time Peter sees Yondu use his arrow – actually _use_ it, and not just to threaten – he sits in the nook he’s claimed as his own and shakes for hours, ignoring Kraglin as he tries to convince him to come out.

He eventually grows accustomed to the sorts of violence typical of Ravager business though, and Peter soon develops the same twitch to the sound of whistling the rest of the crew has.

But it isn’t until Peter’s about ten that he learns how scary Yondu can _really_ be. 

He’s been helping the crew on jobs for just under a year at this point, doing his damnedest to be as useful as the Captain maintains he _better_ be.

This time, it’s only him, Yondu, and Kraglin; a simple contact job that the Captain had gruffly told him to ‘pay the fuck attention’ to. Thrilled, because normally his part in a job meant scurrying around places usually full of things best left unidentified, Peter makes sure to be on his best behavior. It is that zealousness that allows him to spot the ambushers as they walk towards the meet-up point, but by the time he shouts a warning it’s too late. 

They might have gotten away despite being so out-numbered – Yondu’s damn fast with his arrow and Kraglin’s no slouch with a blaster either– but the multiple sets of arms of an A’askvarii grab Peter and then there’s the feeling of a blaster barrel pushing painfully against his left temple. 

The dark look on Yondu’s face makes Peter’s heart race even though the look isn’t directed at him, and he only feels worse when he sees Kraglin’s scowl as the Ravagers are efficiently stripped of any and all weapons (when one of the goons snaps Yondu’s arrow into pieces Peter’s half-sure the Centaurian’s going to rip the guy’s throat out with his teeth, but he quickly subsides when the blaster is pushed hard enough into Peter’s skin that he starts to bleed). 

All three are quickly stripped of their jackets and the men have their arms bound behind them; they even force Yondu into a weird-looking contraption that straps over the lower half of his face, and which Peter belatedly realizes is a gag. They’re hustled down a warren of alleys so confusing Peter’s not sure he knows which way is up when they finally reach their destination; a little shack leaning drunkenly on its neighbour. 

They wind up in a tiny little room divided into even tinier cages. They’re hardly big enough for the grown males to sit in, and Peter’s actually hoisted by his captor into an even smaller cage that swings from the ceiling. Judging from the skeleton on the bottom, he thinks it might’ve been the alien equivalent of a bird cage.

The cell doors lock shut, prompting the bars around Kraglin and Yondu’s cells to begin emitting the ominous sounding buzz of a shockfield, and Peter can’t hold back anymore.

He’s scared out of his wits at this point – why were they captured in the first place? What was going to happen to them? How was Yondu going to get them out of this? – but knows better than to show it. 

He’s obviously not as successful at it as he hopes, because Kraglin calls out to him, “Ya okay there, Pete? Didn’ rough ya up too bad, hey?” 

Peter looks at him blankly, his fingers straying up to his temple without conscious thought. The flare of pain when he touches the wound – blood already drying itchy-like – makes him wince but shocks him out of his stupor. “I’m fine,” he gasps, and then repeats it a little more firmly at the disbelieving look from the first mate. 

The Xandarian nods awkwardly, crouched uncomfortably in his cage. “They take your comm unit?” 

The brief flash of hope is swamped by a wave of shame as Peter remembers he’d left his in his jacket pocket instead of his pants pocket like Yondu had told him to. 

Kraglin obviously reads his expression because he just sighs and says, “Never mind Pete, we’ll get outta this some other way.”

It’s right then the door they’d been marched through swings open, and a Tribbitite walks in. Peter’s stomach does a funny little flip when he sees the Ravager patch on its jacket sleeve; it looks familiar, but Peter can’t recall the clan.

The other Ravager doesn’t even spare a glance for Kraglin or Peter, stopping instead in front of Yondu’s cage, where the Centaurian is sitting in a crouch, carefully avoiding the bars surrounding him. 

“Well, well, _well_. If it ain’t Yondu Udonta hisself, the baddest battle-slave to ever wrack up a Kree bounty. How many provinces got a price on your head, hey? Seven or eight?”

He – she? It? Peter hasn’t gotten the hang of telling alien genders apart quite yet – laughs, a wet sounding gargle that shakes the pouch of loose skin under its jaw in a way that reminds Peter of the bullfrogs back home. 

Peter knows all about Yondu’s bounties, and that the crew’s done their fair share of bounty-hunting before; but he’d never imagined that someone would actually _come after_ Yondu; never mind that he could actually be caught. 

He thinks the captain looks bored, but it’s hard to tell seeing only his eyes. There’s a gleam in them that Peter’s never seen before though, and he finds himself unconsciously moving as far back as his cage will allow him. Yondu’s implant is glowing too, but Peter’s not sure why.

“Stars take you Arviz, what the hell are you doing?!” 

The Ravager – Arviz, apparently – ignores Kraglin in favour of pacing slowly back and forth in front of Yondu, who Peter realizes is watching his captor the same way the barn cats used to watch unsuspecting mice.

Kraglin continues to rail at their captor.

“For Knowhere’s sake, you know collectin’ on other Ravagers ain’t-“

Arviz turns so quickly Peter jumps. 

“Ah but you _aren’t_ Ravagers, are you?” 

And Peter swears his heart stops beating for a brief moment. 

_Not Ravagers?_

“Hey brat!” 

Peter jumps again when the other Ravager addresses him, hastily trying to pull up his most ferocious scowl. It obviously doesn’t work, given how the male laughs at him. 

“Didya know that, boy? Didya know this good-fer-nothin’ Captain a’ yours ain’t even worthy of the flame he wears?”

“He’s more worthy than _you_ are!” 

Even though Peter’s not entirely sure what’s going on, the backtalk is automatic. He’s overheard enough of the crew talking that he’s been able to piece together most of the story, but he’d thought that Yondu had only gotten into some sort of fight with the rest of the Ravagers, not that he’d been _kicked out_ completely.

Arviz grabs the bars of Peter’s cage, bringing his face right up to them – which explains why it’s hung so low – so it’s his own damn fault when Peter kicks him right in the teeth. Kraglin starts to laugh when the Tribbitite lets go with a pained howl, and Peter definitely feels teeth break on that kick. Arviz staggers to a halt with a nasty growl, and the confines of the room have him standing with his back close to Yondu’s cage.

Too close, as it turns out.

Because Yondu doesn’t hesitate and reaches through the bars to grab Ravager’s left knee and _wrenching_ – Peter’s not sure how, cause they’ve made him pass his arm through a shockfield on the ship (training, they called it), and his arm was useless and felt like it was on fire for _hours_. 

But apparently it doesn’t bother Yondu, and it looks like Tribbitite knees work the same as human ones do, because he goes down with another howl. Arviz’s head smacks into the bars of Yondu’s cage and the way his body jolts tells Peter he’s just gotten a massive shock; but it doesn’t matter because Yondu snaps his neck as the others come running in.

But Yondu’s still moving, uncoiling from his crouch – somehow his cage is open even though the shockfield is still active – and the foremost thug doesn’t even have time to fumble his blaster out of his holster – _Idiot,_ Peter thinks contemptuously, _he should’ve had it drawn before coming in_ – before the Centaurian tackles him backwards into his buddies. Peter sees a glint of what might be a knife – they must have missed one – before Yondu buries it in the unfortunate thug’s belly. The whole group, not exactly organized to begin with, dissolves into a swirling mass of chaos, exacerbated by the cramped space. 

With Peter’s cage so low flailing bodies actually smack into it, jostling him to hell and back, and he prays no one tries to stick a knife through his bars. The cage’s wild gyrations mean he only catches glimpses of the fight, but it’s enough to see that more and more of their ambushers are going down and not getting up again.

And though Peter doesn’t want to admit it, watching Yondu is _terrifying_. He’s never really seen Yondu fight before – on the ship all the Captain has to do is purse his lips and whoever’s stupid enough to talk back suddenly has a change of opinion – and the Centaurian isn’t usually one to wade into barroom brawls like the rest of his crew. 

But this is a one-sided _massacre_.

Yondu’s slipping in and out between bodies like water, and his tiny little knife is opening abdomens, slashing throats, and getting buried in skulls quick as a blink.

Blood of all colours is quickly being spattered around the small room, and shouts and curses are quickly replaced with bubbling coughs and wheezing gurgles. The smell of futile blaster discharges and blood and bowel hits Peter’s nose, and he has to swallow several times to keep from puking. 

It ends rather quickly, leaving Yondu the only one standing, nearly knee deep in corpses. He’s breathing hard, and the sound of it over his gag reminds Peter of Darth Vader. Yondu doesn’t seem bothered by it, striding over to the initial Ravager’s corpse – Peter’s already forgotten his name – and picking up the late Ravager’s blaster to blast open the lock on Kraglin’s cell. 

The sudden silence is deafening as the bars stop buzzing. Yondu tosses the blaster to Kraglin as the first mate crawls out, jerking his head in Peter’s direction before turning and treading callously over the corpses to the room beyond. 

Kraglin quickly unlocks Peter’s cage, lifting him down; Peter nearly falls over when his foot accidentally lands on a corpse and his ankle rolls. He staggers and catches his footing, but gets an eyeful of nearly completely severed neck and claps his hands over his mouth as his stomach roils again. 

Kraglin’s grip on his shoulder is both firm and sympathetic. “Come on kid, don’ look an’ let’s get outta this shithole.” 

They meet up with Yondu in the room beyond, and the Captain’s already got all their confiscated weapons in a pile on a table. The knife he used is tossed to the side, and Peter swallows again when he catches sight of the blood-soaked length. Yondu hasn’t bothered putting his vest or coat back on yet, and the boy can see darkened patches on his long-sleeve undershirt and pants. 

“Are you hurt?” his mouth moves before his brain can process what a stupid idea it is, and Peter clamps his teeth shut so fast afterwards he nearly bites his tongue. 

Yondu only rolls his eyes, and the boy flushes as he notices the Centaurian still has the gag on. 

“Here Captain,” Kraglin’s got his jacket back and pulls an assortment of tools from its pockets, moving to stand behind a stool.

Yondu sits and cleans the bloodied knife with a scrap of fabric he’s gotten from somewhere while Kraglin gets to work on the gag, and Peter finds his gaze involuntarily straying to the doorway they’ve just come in through. 

A snapping of fingers makes him jerk and dart his gaze back to Yondu just as Kraglin gets the gag unlocked. 

“You okay, boy?” 

Peter stares blankly, eyes skittering everywhere for a moment before jerking his head in a sorry excuse for a nod. 

Yondu just looks at him, red gaze even more unsettling than usual peering back at him from a face liberally painted with the blood of several other species. Obviously deciding to take the boy at his word, the Captain turns his attention to re-arming himself and issuing orders as he slides the now clean knife back into the hidden compartment in the sole of his left boot.

“Kraglin, search this shit-hole and see if you can find how th’ fuck Arviz grew balls all of a sudden. He never woulda pulled this shit on his own; I wanna know who’s backin’ him. An’ do it quick, I wan’ out of here before any fuckin’ reinforcements show up. And Quill –“ 

Yondu pauses as Peter reflexively shies away when the Centaurian turns back to him. There’s a flash of something in his red eyes Peter doesn’t catch as he can’t bring himself to make eye contact, but Kraglin does and keeps his thoughts to himself. 

“…call th’ ship and let ‘em know we’ll be headin’ back soon. _Don’t_ tell ‘em what tha’ fuck went down, got it?”

“Got it, Yon – Captain,” Peter squeaks, using the excuse of better reception to duck outside to make the call. 

Mission soon accomplished, Peter can’t bring himself to go back in and instead waits for the other Ravagers to come out. 

Kraglin emerges first, but it’s another ten minutes before Yondu comes out, and he doesn’t even slow as he heads down an alley that presumably leads back to their M-ship. 

Peter hangs back to fall in behind Kraglin, but the first mate is having none of it and gestures with his drawn blaster to get in front of him. It’s a silent and tense trio that makes its way back to the M-ship, with both Yondu and Kraglin on high alert and Peter slowly settling into shock. 

They make it back without further incident but don’t relax until the ship is safely on its way out-system. Yondu and Kraglin begin to confer over whatever it is Kraglin’s found in the rival faction’s hideout, and Peter sits in the co-pilot’s seat and stares blankly out at the passing stars. The _Eclector_ ’s only two jumps away, but he’s too out of it to notice that they’re taking the long way to the jump point. 

He must fall asleep at some point, because he wakes up with a scream in his throat and his heart racing fit to burst out of his chest. Peter scrambles upright in the seat, hands slipping on the blanket and only being saved from diving headfirst to the floor by a quick hand grabbing the back of his collar. 

“Shit son, take ‘er easy. Yer fine.”

The voice makes Peter twitch in an instinctive reflex to get away, but Yondu appears not to notice as he pulls the boy back into his chair. 

It takes a minute for the adrenaline to fade enough that he can focus on the form sitting slouched in the pilot’s seat. The Centaurian is twirling his repaired yaka arrow absent-mindedly between his fingers, and Peter gulps down a fresh wave of nausea and hunches smaller in his seat. 

“Here.”

Peter blinks uncomprehendingly at the sandwich – or what passes for one in space – Yondu holds out to him. He shakes his head but Yondu growls and drops the sandwich on his head, making him scrabble to grab it before it falls on the floor.

“First rule of survival, kid: eat when you can, sleep when you can, an’ always keep a knife close by.” 

Peter’s eyes flick involuntarily to the Captain’s boots as he gets up and walks further into the ship, and then focuses on the sandwich he still doesn’t want. Sighing, he places it carefully on the arm rest and goes to hike the blanket back up to his chin. 

He stops when he registers the cool leather under his fingers, and abruptly realizes the Captain hadn’t been wearing his signature trenchcoat. He stares at it for a long while, running cautious fingers over every scratch and crease, reverently going over the flame emblem embellished on the chest. 

And then suddenly Peter’s starving, and he wolfs down the sandwich so fast he almost chokes, before curling back up under the coat and only waking when Kraglin hollers that they’re docking in the _Eclector_. 

The coat’s gone then, back where it rightfully belongs, and soon enough the incident fades from memory as Peter goes back into the rough-and-tumble routine of learning to be a Ravager. 

And he’s back to sassing and back-talking every chance he can get away with it – and even when he can’t – and growing up and regarding Yondu as that ‘big blue bastard’ that ruined his life and vowing that he’s gonna strike out on his own as soon as he can. 

But he always makes sure there’s a knife in his boot.

**Author's Note:**

> I took a bit of creative licence with Tribbitite anatomy, courtesy of http://marvel.wikia.com/wiki/Tribbitites and used  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_alien_races_in_Marvel_Comics to help me pick species. 
> 
> As far as I know, 'shockfield' is a term I cobbled together and not one that describes anything that so far exists, mostly because I am not an engineer by education and it's not my field of science. Basically it's a taser forcefield put around cells to keep people from escaping, although if you set the voltage too low, well....


End file.
